We Build The Hope
by seaquell
Summary: He made her believe she had a place in the world. (Or significant times Natasha found herself at Clint's farm)


**A/N:** It seems I have too many wounds to heal (and by that I mean reopen), so what do you know, it's another farm fic! This one is about Clint and Natasha's relationship growing throughout the years, so there will be a time jump between (mostly) every chapter. It goes with the idea that they met before Laura happened (though I might write the other version too lol).

* * *

 _Home life ceases to be free and beautiful as soon as it is founded on borrowing and debt._ \- Henrik Ibsen

* * *

"I have to admit... that wasn't half bad."

Natasha glares at her newly assigned partner, walking around to get the feeling back in her legs from sitting in the jet for so long. "While you're on it, you might also admit why you made me park in the middle of fucking nowhere."

"Would you have rather had your first try in the middle of New York?" Clint asks in a bored voice, stretching his arms.

"Oh, now you ask for my preference? We left the city 3 hours ago." With time, the feel of New York has definitely disappeared too. She doesn't know where they are, but her observations and instincts say they're in the Midwest. She'd be more elaborate, but she hasn't exactly had time for road trips since her arrival in the States.

"What, you mean you didn't like all the team bonding we got to do?" Her only response is a glare.

"Well, since you asked so nicely…" Clint begins walking, down fields and through mud puddles and Natasha has no choice but to follow. She has half the mind to ditch him, get on the jet and drive away. It'd be hilarious and she wouldn't be forced to walk in the heat towards an unknown destination. But parking it here really _was_ too easy of a task and she actually has no idea how to operate the thing.

With a sigh, she pulls up her hair in a ponytail, cursing herself for not making good on her promise and cutting it short. "Does Fury know about your spontaneous escapades?"

"Why, you gonna tell on me?"

Natasha's glad his back is to her, because the smile appears on her face faster than she can fight it. _He's ridiculous._ "Depends on why you brought me here."

"Technically, you brought yourself here. I might have given direc-"

"I still got my gun on me and you seem to be lacking a quiver on your back."

Clint turns his head to look at her before shaking his head. "All right," he begins in a serious voice. _Too_ serious.

"I swear," Natasha huffs.

"You said I didn't trust you," he blurts out, stilling.

"What?" Impatiently, she makes a few steps ahead and turns so they're facing each other.

"After the debriefing to our last and, well, I guess, our _first_ mission, I gave you that speech about trust. I told you that was the foundation of a team, all that cheesy stuff, remember?"

Natasha nods, crossing her arms.

"And I said to you that you have to trust me or it was all for nothing. You laughed and said I had it wrong, that it was the other way around. That _I_ had to trust _you_."

She feels a sudden need to defend her words. "Well, we didn't exactly meet under the most normal of circumstances. Of course you'd have a problem trusting me."

He smiles at her. "That's never been a problem."

Surprised by his confession, Natasha gulps. _It doesn't mean anything_ , she reminds herself. As she tilts her head at him, her ponytail swings in the process. "So what? You decided to assure me of that by bringing me to a deserted place?"

"Yes, I trust you enough to let you do whatever you want with me without anyone to see." Clint gives her about 5 seconds for the shock to sink in before laughing. "Yeah, you can still do that. But I don't think it'd be convincing enough."

And he's right. Her advantage with a gun doesn't mean anything when he thinks she wouldn't dare use it. She's still hanging on a thread at S.H.I.E.L.D. If anything, he's the only thing keeping her there and they both know it. Maybe there's more to why his bow is missing today. He's _tricking_ her, like he _tricked_ her into getting here in the first place.

She reaches behind her waist and in a swift move, her gun is aimed at him.

Not moving even an inch, Clint lets out a low whistle. "Wow. I thought I was the one with the trust issues."

"I think you're the one _still on a mission_." Her voice is meant to be cold, sneering. Yet Natasha doesn't recall the last time she sounded so childish without meaning to.

He rolls his eyes. "Put the damn gun down."

"If I'm going down, I'm going to go down in a clean fight. But while I can ask, I want to ask why."

"Why I brought you here?"

"I know why you brought me here!" She snaps, her voice rising. "To finish me off. But why didn't you do that the first time we met? Why did you drag me through the bullshit of S.H.I.E.L.D.? And then, today, through different states and cities, to this _exact_ place?"

Clint just stares at her for a while with what she's pretty sure is pity in his eyes. Has he forgotten who has the upper hand here?

"You took too long, Hawkeye," she says through gritted teeth. "And, unlike you, I never let my victims get away."

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, rethinking his words. _Good, they'd be his last._

"I want you to think." Natasha's heard this from him before, whenever she makes a too risky move or decision during training. "Why would I have allowed you to bring your gun?"

"A trick," she says instantly. A deceit, just like the calm, yet firm voice he's speaking with right now; the one that always gets to her. "It would've made me feel unreasonably safe... if I hadn't figured it all out."

Clint swallows, running a hand through his hair, and she knows he's realized he has nowhere to go. Once he grants her a worthy answer, it's him against her and he doesn't stand a chance, not with rage controlling her every hit.

"Tell me," she croaks out. "Was this little scenario always the plan? Or... you _so heroically_ gave me a second chance... _and I blew it_."

The thought makes her want to point the gun back to herself. He made her believe she had a place in the world. And then he decided to take it.

When he just blinks at her, she loses it. She doesn't need an explanation from him to move on, go back to being nobody. It would haunt her for a while, but it would've gained her a lesson.

The gun is thrown on the ground not a second before she punches Clint right in the chest. A hit meant to hurt. And it _does_ , given the way he grits his teeth. His arms, however, stay at his sides.

"This isn't gonna work either," Natasha tells him. "The more you hold back, the more it's gonna hurt. I promise you."

Another punch. _Nothing._ Then she grabs his arm, twits it and knows she's got him even before he pushes her back. He wouldn't risk not being able to use his precious bow.

"I trust you with anything but my hands, Nat."

With a sharp tug of his hair, he lets go of his hold on her. "You still going on about that? And don't fucking call me that."

Given his previous restrain, she doesn't expect it when he launches for her. Her ponytail is in his fist and she yelps. The realization of what has happened, _what is going to happen_ , stings more than anything.

He pushes her back against his chest, red hair sliding through his fingers. "The more you hold back, the more it's gonna hurt."

"What a-are you g-g-gonna do? Sm-mother me with my ha-a-ir?" She convulses against him, the pain unbearable when he starts walking.

He doesn't answer, just keeps dragging her. After a few minutes, his grip is lighter and her walking is less uncomfortable. If she tries, Natasha can almost pretend they're just taking a walk and enjoying the scenery. More time passes and she begins to wonder if they really are.

They reach a place where the terrain has been cleared. Clint has let go of her hair entirely, but his arm is wrapped around her shoulders from behind, holding her back.

Natasha looks around, searching for something to tell her the reason they're here. But there's absolutely nothing. "You bury your victims here?"

He laughs bitterly. "Let's hope not." And he lets go of her, even helps her steady herself when she stumbles forward.

"This is where I'm gonna done it," he says.

"Do what?" Natasha asks tiredly. She's dying to reach up and scratch her itchy scalp, but she's afraid he'd take it as a chance to knock her out for good.

"Live." When she just stares at him confusedly, he scratches behind his ear - a nervous tick she's noticed. "After I'm done with S.H.I.E.L.D... whenever that is... I'm gonna live here."

"Looks real cozy."

Clint glares at her, but she can see the uncertainty behind it. It's what makes her question herself. "I'm gonna build a house, obviously."

" _You're_ gonna build it?"

"Well... Fury said he'd help me set it up, but I don't exactly want it to be common knowledge, so I doubt I'm gonna let some random agents here."

Natasha shrugs, feeling self-conscious. Her eyes stray away to a couple of butterflies chasing each other. "You let _me_ here."

"Want to guess why?" He takes a step closer, taunting her.

"Because..." She laughs, because the other option is crying and they're not quite there yet. "You trust me."

"Yes." He presses her body to his so he can reach up and gently, gently pull her hair out of the ponytail. Her hand lands on his chest, where she hit him.

"You still trust me?" She asks in a bitter voice, preparing herself for the worst.

"Yes. More than before."

"There's something seriously wrong with you."

Clint laughs, his hands still petting her hair like she's a cat. And honestly, she feels like purring. "Nope. I'm alive, aren't I? We survived the worst."

"You don't know me," Natasha says and it's more sad than angry.

"I know you better than I did yesterday." He could mean the "team bonding" in the jet. Or the way he risked his life to keep the real reason they were here in exchange for her to reveal herself. It makes her want more than anything to be better.

"They really messed you up, didn't they?" He says, sympathy and anger and understanding in his voice, and she shivers.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he says immediately. "And it's gonna get better. One day you'll get back from a mission and think 'hey, maybe this hawk guy isn't so bad after all.'"

She wants to hit him for making her smile, but won't. "We'll see about that, Clint."

He gapes at her as if she just ruined all his plans by skipping ahead. Smirking, she steps away from him and walks around a bit. "So how's this house gonna look?"

"Hmm... Right where you're standing there's gonna be a pool," he teases.

Natasha snorts, but plays along. "Of course."

"No... It's actually gonna be a farm."

She whips around. "A farm... with, like, horses and cows and shit?"

"I don't know about horses and cows and shit, but I'd like some kind of an animal, yeah," Clint says, playing with the elastic band he still has in his hands.

She moves closer to him again and, _yes_ , she can see that he wants to tell her more, but isn't quite ready for it.

"It suits you," Natasha says, a warm smile on her lips. She owes him even more now, but when he smiles back, she forgets the guilt for a moment. "You're not gonna be leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. anytime soon though, are you?" Her hand slides down his and their fingers gently brush as she retrieves her elastic band.

Clint's eyes lift up from where he was watching her movements. "Depends. I keep bringing in agents like you and there's not gonna be any need for me."

His tone is playful, but she frowns, sensing something real underneath. "I hope you get what you want." Even though her words change nothing, she secretly prays they're heard _somehow_. That maybe, if she doesn't ever get to repay her debt directly, this would be enough.

"Regimes fall every day. I could be dead by the time the foundation is done." It makes her remember his words, the ones that started all of this. _Trust is the foundation of a team_. She thinks theirs is already done.

"Then try not to die," Natasha says, a challenge in her voice, before any depressing feelings can sink in. "Besides, with my help we'd get the job done twice as fast."

" _You're_ gonna help?" Clint asks, disbelief and awe in his voice, both humorous and emotional.

"What? Don't you trust me?"


End file.
